


Illicit Affairs

by orionstarlight



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Break Up, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: Clandestine meetings, he called them. An illicit affair is what it really was, formed from longing stares, born from a single glance. But with the way it made them feel, he never saw it breaking him, dying over and over and over, a million little times.----------Tony Stark and Victor von Doom fic based on Taylor Swift's 'Illicit Affairs'
Relationships: Tony Stark/Victor von Doom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Illicit Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing these two together, done for my friend on twitter ! (mine is @bitchinIesbian)  
> constructive criticism welcome, also sorry this is so short i wrote it all in one go at 1AM

* * *

He strokes the material of the handkerchief in his hands gently, holding it up to his nose, trying desperately to take in a scent that’s long gone, a scent that blew away like a leaf in the wind when the road started getting rocky.

Leaving was always hard. Eyes fixed downwards, following all the cracks in the pavement, wondering how many more times he’d have to pull the hood over his head, watch over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed, not a single soul having seen his body walk out of the door to the honeymoon suite.

He took the alleyways home despite his reputation for the spotlight. He’d call it the road less travelled by, but more strangers saw his flushed cheeks than he’d care to admit -- although they seemed to have matching ones -- but at least his friends wouldn’t doubt that he’d been out for a run. He could stop whenever he wanted to, self-control something he knew exactly how to work with, but he didn’t want to.

He wanted to return to the room with the golden wallpaper. He wanted to take off his jacket, throw it on the chair by the desk and kick his shoes off as if he was coming home. He needed to believe that these meetings would never end in parking lots.

_ Clandestine meetings _ , he called them. An illicit affair is what it really was, formed from longing stares, born from a single glance. But with the way it made them feel, he never saw it breaking him, dying over and over and over, a million little times.

He takes down the perfume bottle he placed on the shelf so long ago it has a thin layer of dust on it now. It never used to be in his home. He blows the dust away, taking in the lettering on the worn label. He picked it out just for him, so he could always smell him when he walked in the room, hung his tie on his jacket, kicked his shoes off next to his. He needed his presence to be known, even if he couldn’t be seen.

He’d leave the bottle on a shelf there, left behind, hiding his footsteps so he couldn’t be traced, like neither of them had been near each other, like whatever had allegedly happened in that room had never existed at all, except, perhaps, for the words whispered that would forever linger in the air.

The things that had been murmured in his ear gave him a dwindling, mercurial high, an inexplicable chemical reaction happening in his brain. Too powerful a drug to be shared with anyone else. He wanted it all to himself, to feel everything the first few hundred times.

But clandestine meetings don’t last in perfection. Longing stares become stolen, creeping around in the dark, more dangerous than they ever appeared to be. They showed the truth once, in an act of good-naturedness, but they lie over and over and over, a billion little times, like all illicit affairs end up doing.

He throws the perfume bottle against the wall, watching the stain that forms with care. He’d screamed that day. Yelled at the betrayal. He’d been called kid, baby. He’d shrieked at him to stop.

It wasn’t something that could be resolved with gentle words, with soothing whispers. He was standing in the godforsaken mess that had been made just for him and it felt like he was sinking in quicksand. All the colours he could see only when they were together slowly disappeared before his very eyes.

_ “I’m not a kid! I’m not your baby!” _

He was an idiotic fool drowning and choking in a sea of the secret language he’d taught him, one he couldn’t speak with anyone else, but it didn’t matter how many times he gasped for air, begged to be held once more, to be rescued.

Because they knew damn well that, for Victor, Tony would ruin himself a million little times.

**Author's Note:**

> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


End file.
